Once More With Spiking
by Helga Von Nutwimple
Summary: When Spike and Willow's agreement to send him a week back in time to stop the events in "Seeing Red" backfires, Spike finds himself trapped in Season Two and an ethical minefield.
1. When In Doubt, Bring Donuts

"This is _Cordelia's_..." Buffy held up the bracelet wrapped around the rock she'd caught a moment before, unwrapping the note and reading aloud. "_Come to the Bronze before it opens, or we make her a meal_."  
  
"They're gonna cook her dinner?" Xander quipped, shrinking under the glares from around the table. "I'll pretend I didn't just say that."  
  
"Actually," a low, British-accented voice said, "Turns out the restaurant delivers."  
  
They whirled; Cordelia stood at the library doors, shaken up, unharmed, and turbo flirting in the direction of the shockingly blonde, leather-clad man next to her.  
  
"He saved me," Cordelia gushed, beaming up at the newcomer.  
  
The man tried unsuccessfully to dislodge his bicep from between Cordelia's breasts. "First things first, alright? Name's Spike, from the future, here to help, and I brought donuts."  
  
Spike held a box of Krispy Kremes in front of him like a shield. "Extra jellies, so Rupert doesn't have to kill Xander."  
  
"Er... I'm not quite sure which part of that to disbelieve first," Giles stuttered.  
  
"Well... I liked the donut part," Xander said.  
  
Spike took a step forward... staggering back suddenly as a thrown stake embedded itself in his chest.  
  
"Buffy!" Cordelia shrieked. "Oh my _God_! _Rude_ much?"  
  
Spike pulled the stake from his heart, twirling it in his fingers, chuckling. "Slayer... you don't change."  
  
"He's a vampire!" Buffy said defensively. "I could... feel it. You... um... _are_ a vampire, right?"  
  
"Fair cop, pet. Come with some fancy accessories, though. Got a soul, chip that won't let me hurt humans, fewer than usual allergies. Can sunbathe on a cross drinkin' an extra-garlic holy water smoothie if I feel so inclined, so..."  
  
Buffy caught the stake he gently tossed back to her, scowling. "Angel's the only vampire with a soul in the world. He told me so."  
  
"Well yeah, that's right. _Now_. Said I was from the future, didn't I? In the future, there's two of us. Look, I can prove it, alright? Secret ingredient in Buffy's mum's hot chocolate is cayenne pepper. Ripper here's got a crush on that CNN bint Christiane Amanpour an' a stash of Dairy Milk inside a saltine box on top of his fridge. Xander does the Snoopy dance at Christmas, Willow's got a frog thing, Buffy wanted to be Dorothy Hamill when she grew up..."  
  
Giles startled. "Christiane Amanpour is..."  
  
"Look, um... Spike, right?" Buffy snapped. "This is all _very_ special and I'm sure we can't wait to see your DeLorean, but I've got the Master to kill again, so..."  
  
"Spike already did it," Cordelia cooed, eyelids fluttering like hummingbird's wings. "Smashed his bones with a sledgehammer, dusted that Anointed guy. It was like he knew _exactly_ what to do!"  
  
"Well, I _did_," Spike said matter-of-factly. "Heard the story, hadn't I? Only last time, it was Buffy who did it... the Master bit, anyway. Fryin' the Annoyin' One's just me bein' a few weeks ahead of schedule."  
  
Buffy exhaled sharply. "The Master's dead... he's really, really dead?"  
  
And for the first time since his arrival, Spike met her eyes. "Never gonna bother you again, pet."  
  
"Time travel," Xander sighed, helping himself to a donut. "Well, that's the one thing we _haven't_ dealt with yet... does that make you Reese? 'Cause I gotta say, the excess leather is just screaming _Terminator_."  
  
"If you're... um... back from the future," Willow winced a little bit, "Then you must be here to stop something... something really bad, right?"  
  
"Well... yeah," Spike said uncomfortably. "The, ah, witch who sent me back... she sent me back to stop somethin' specific. A murder. Thing is... it doesn't happen for almost five years. Looks as she overshot a bit..."  
  
He took a long look at Willow, gears seeming to turn in his head. "Or maybe I was meant to stop somethin' else entirely."  
  
"Mmm, vague," Xander said around a mouthful of sprinkles. "Hey, personal favor... could you say 'Come with me if you want to live'...? C'mon, just once."  
  
Noting Xander's lack of poisonous death, Giles reached for a raspberry-filled. "I believe... er, _Spike_, is it? Is right to be less than specific. His presence here is creating a temporal paradox, is it not?"  
  
"It does in all the movies," Cordelia offered. "If he tells us what happens to us, it doesn't happen, so he doesn't get sent back, so he fades out of the photograph and gets hit on by his mom..."  
  
Spike seemed to wince more than the comment required.  
  
"But he already killed the Master instead of me. He's _already_ changed history," Buffy chewed on her lip. "What, does the future suck so much you just don't care about it?"  
  
"Don't have a choice about changin' history, Slayer. Can't go back to my own time, wasn't ever _meant_ to get back... here on a one-way ticket. Only _supposed_ to get sent back a bloody _week_, y'know, wasn't gonna be an issue. Made a deal. Supposed to stop a girl from gettin' shot and... somethin' else, bit of a personal project. Stuck here, looks like, and I'll change things whether I mean to or not." Spike shrugged. "Specially since I already staked m'self."  
  
Giles hitched up his glasses. "You mean to say... you've _destroyed_ the version of yourself that exists in this time?"  
  
"Had to," Spike smiled enigmatically. "Besides... was cathartic."  
  
"Well, this is quite... quite..."  
  
"So, if you're going to change history anyway," Xander mused. "You could tell us anything we want to know and it wouldn't matter, right? How far from in the future did you say you were, again?"  
  
"'Bout five years, give or take. Was May 2002, where I was."  
  
"Wow," Willow gasped. "So you knew us when we were _old_."  
  
Giles glared. "Your early twenties -- I'm sure you were all in a state of advanced decomposition." He turned a pleading gaze on Spike. "I don't suppose they mature at all...?"  
  
"Depends on your definition."  
  
"I was afraid of that."  
  
"So you know what's coming," Buffy said thoughtfully. "The monsters we'll face. How we killed them..."  
  
"Wasn't here for all of it. Heard a lot of stories, though. I'd like to help you out, Slayer, if you'll let me."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Spike hung his head slightly. "I... owe you."  
  
"What, did I save your life or something?"  
  
"Bit more than that involved, but yeah, you had a real bad habit of keepin' me alive. Like to return the favor, if possible."  
  
Willow's face lit up. "Were you a Scooby? In the future?"  
  
"More a member of the Scooby Auxillary Club, Undead Division."  
  
"We have _auxillary clubs..._ with _divisions_," Willow gushed, leaning over her stack of books with a grin.  
  
Buffy sighed. "Okay, Spike... do you have a less silly name than _Spike_? 'Cause saying that with a straight face? So not happening."  
  
"Um, hello, _Buf-fy_?" Cordelia snapped. "Pots, kettles?"  
  
Buffy glared at Cordelia, but moved on. "You say you're from the future. Prove it. Who's the next Big Bad, and how do I kill it?"  
  
"Well, er... givin' _me_ a miss means no Judge, no Order of Taraka..." Spike rolled his eyes to the ceiling, racking his memory as Giles mouthed 'The Order of Taraka?' with horror. "Ah... did you know a new Slayer was called when you died? Name's Kendra, bloody suck-up, hopefully she won't show. Wonder what that means in terms of Faith... anyway, near as I can recall, next big hunk on your plate's Giles' old buddy Ethan Rayne."  
  
"Good lord," Giles said in horror.  
  
"May already be here, in fact. Buys a costume shop, puts chaos magic on all the costumes, come Halloween everyone wearin' one turns into what they're dressed as. Slayer goes girly, Red goes ghosty, and Harris... huh. Maybe we ought to let that one go through."  
  
"You're suggesting we _let_ Ethan Rayne tamper with the children of Sunnydale?"  
  
"It's just... Harris here gets turned into Soldier Boy, never really forgets the planted info. Ends up with all this useful army know-how, guns an' protocols and the like."  
  
"I'm, like, MacGyver or something? I can make bombs out of toilet paper rolls and gum?" Xander said eagerly, studiously ignoring Cordelia's eye-roll.  
  
Willow bit her lip. "So theoretically, we could _all_ use this to our advantage? I mean... it sounds like Xander's the only one who it benefited, but if we all chose costumes carefully..."  
  
"I am _not_ allowing Ethan Rayne to do Chaos Magic on innocents!"  
  
"Aw, c'mon, Giles, think about it!" Willow protested. "I mean, I could... I could dress up as a... as a witch! And then I'd remember all kinds of cool _spells_, and I could really _help_, and..."  
  
"Think I gotta agree with the Watcher on this one," Spike said quickly.  
  
"Does nobody _see_ this? This could be _awesome_! I mean, Buffy... we try to help you, but there's only so much we can do, and... if this would let us be, y'know, _Super-Us_, think of how much more useful we could be to you!"  
  
"So that's it?" Buffy demanded, staring down Spike. "One Halloween of costume freakery? I mean, I guess after dying, everything's kind of anti-climactic, but sheesh. If that's it, maybe Mom _won't_ keel over dead from worry this year."  
  
She recoiled from the stricken look on Spike's face. "What? What'd I say?"  
  
Spike swallowed hard. "Er, Slayer... the other... upcoming Big Bad..."  
  
"Oh, come _on_, Spike. I _died_, hello? Defeated _the Master_? Most powerful vampire ever? Whatcha got?"  
  
"Angel's soul-curse," Spike began tentatively. "It's... got a bit of a loophole. He ever experiences a moment of perfect happiness, his soul goes poof n' he turns back into Big Bad Angelus."  
  
"The way he broods? _So_ not happening," Xander laughed.  
  
"Yeah, well, certain... activities could cause him to quit broodin' for a bit."  
  
"Activities?" Giles asked.  
  
"Pleasurable... activities..."  
  
Blank faces.  
  
"Statutory... activities..."  
  
More gaping.  
  
"Oh, bloody hell!" Spike snapped. "He shags the Slayer, goes all evil, kills Jenny Calendar and Willow's goldfish, tries to suck the world into hell with a big rock named Acathla and Buffy has to kill him. So much for trying to be bloody tactful about it. In short, to sum up, keep your soddin' knickers on and you n' the great poof can live broodily ever after."  
  
_Bad bad bad bad bad bad bad..._  
  
Stupid _soul_. Now he felt all guilty, and there was a time when he'd have enjoyed the hell out of this: Xander was shooting Buffy a look of pure, unadulterated betrayal; Giles was reduced to mumbling and frantic lens-polishing; Willow's eyes had gone huge and she was making little 'meep' noises; Cordelia looked... well, bored, and Buffy...  
  
And now the guilt-knife twisted; he knew that look, couldn't ever forget it...  
  
_Ask me again why I could never love you...  
_  
Not fifteen bleedin' minutes in her presence, minutes where he'd actually managed to be civil to Rupert and Harris, minutes of her treating him with a modicum of respect, stake in the chest aside... and he'd blown it already.  
  
Damage control, damage control...  
  
"Look, pet, it's not carved in stone," he tried. "Besides, Jenny's part of the gypsy clan that cursed Angel in the first place, here to make sure he doesn't get too happy... she was workin' on re-soulin' him when he killed her, right? So we'll have her get the spell and one of those Orb things ready just in case, have his soul popped back in before you can say..."  
  
"Jenny is a _what_?" Giles asked, enunciation so sharp you could bleed from it.  
  
"Oh, hell," Spike felt his stomach sink. "Hadn't told you yet, right. Look, Rupert, don't hold it against her..."  
  
The set of Giles' jaw indicated that he intended to do just that.  
  
"I kill Angel?" Buffy whispered, tears shining in her eyes.  
  
"You _had_ to, love. It was him or the whole world. Besides, he came back later, all souled up. In the time I come from, Angel's as alive as a vampire can be. Didn't hold it against you, neither. Knew you had to do it. An' hey -- now you don't. No harm, no foul, right?"  
  
"And we're still together?"  
  
Spike struggled for his kitten poker face. "Er. Angel started a second front versus the nasties in L.A., so you don't see each other much as you'd like."  
  
There. _That_ was true, wasn't it?  
  
He'd thought the soul would make this being good rot easier, would mean that every time he had a decision to make, some big flashy neon sign reading "RIGHT CHOICE" would turn on over the appropriate door... and it wasn't a bloody bit like that. Instead, he just had more voices in his head... _annoying_ ones at that... all yelling at him to do something different.  
  
Voice #1 said up with total honesty, wanted to tell Buffy the truth and nothing but the truth.  
  
Voice #2 didn't want to hurt her, couldn't stand to see the beginnings of tears in those eyes that, damn it, not only were Buffy but somehow also spoke to him of the Nibblet. Making her cry? Like bathing in razor blades.  
  
Voice #3 said he didn't deserve her, didn't deserve to be in the same room with her, could only hurt her, and should bugger off until such time as he did what he came for and saved Tara from that Warren git.  
  
Voice #4 said he wasn't going anywhere until he'd dusted protecting Buffy from anything and everything that might look at her funny.  
  
Voice #5 was hoping Rupert wouldn't take the custard-filled donut, but he was pretty certain that wasn't a soul thing.  
  
He realized the others were speaking to him, asking him questions about the future, and Spike held up a hand.  
  
"Look, if it's all the same to you lot, I'd like a bit of alone time with the Watcher. Got... stuff to discuss."

* * *

"You honestly mean to say that _Willow_... little _Willow Rosenberg_..."  
  
"Pulled a major Anakin, yeah. Wait, has that piece of crap come out yet? Never mind. Look, here's what I know; I was in Africa, had just gotten the soul stuffed in, right? Layin' on the cave floor, hurtin' like hell, and suddenly, demon-boy starts laughin'... says something about redemption waitin' for no man, and boom I'm gettin' teleported across the bloody planet, end up in Joyce's bedroom. Red's all Pollacked up with blood, holdin' her dead girlfriend in her arms, eyeballs doin' that X-Files thing, tells me Osiris has refused her request."  
  
"She was trying to... resurrect her girlfriend?"  
  
"Yeah, but it didn't work. So... she shoves her girlfriend at me, tells me to vamp her."  
  
"I'm sorry," Giles said, "But I simply can't imagine Willow doing something so... well, to be perfectly frank... idiotic. She knows better than to expect she'd get... Tara, you say? Back that way..."  
  
"Tried to explain that. Moreover, girl was too far gone, even if I _hadn't_ had the chip. Told Red that, said I wasn't gonna be able to vamp her anyway unless she bloody well turned back time... and _that_ was when I saw what the Resolve Face looks like when it's evil-flavored."  
  
"She decided to send you back in time."  
  
"Yeah, to the day Tara got shot. Only I convinced her to send me back a week, instead... let me round up the nerds, stop... some other bad things."  
  
Giles chewed on the earpiece of his glasses. "And why, exactly, are you telling _me_ this?"  
  
"Red's little trip to the dark side didn't start when Tara got shot. Been buildin' up for years. Hell, the first spell the girl ever did was that soul-curse on Angel... did it for white-hat reasons n' all, but that's a nasty bit of dark magic to cut your teeth on. Think the girl might do better with... well, with a Watcher, right? Trainin' n' all. You saw her in there, Rupert... she's already fascinated by the mojo, not gonna be able to keep her from it. Better to give her some direction." Spike sighed. "Can't believe this is me talkin'..."  
  
"That does sound logical, Spike, but it is_ Buffy_ who is my primary responsibility, and her training takes up all of my..."

"Well... what if I did that for you? Physical bits, anyway. Know her fightin' style better'n anyone but you, know where she needs work... plus, me bein' undead and all, she could fight me harder, right? Look, Watcher, I _know_ Slayers, I've killed two of 'em..."  
  
"Dear lord," Giles gasped, "You're William the Bloody."  
  
"Yeah, I _am_. Slayer of Slayers an' all that rot. She trains with me, she learns to avoid every trick in my arsenal, yeah? No Slayer's ever gotten _that_ kind of training."  
  
"I don't understand. You're... you're infamous. Cruel, vindictive, savage, legendary..."  
  
Spike couldn't stop the smirk. "Flattery will get you everywhere."  
  
"It's bloody well_ not_ flattery! If you think I'd entrust my Slayer to one of the most evil vampires in recent history, you're..."  
  
"Watcher? Your Slayer is probably off _snogging_ the most evil vampire in recent history as we speak. You haven't met Angelus, all right? Well, he's my bleedin' _granddad_, and I'll never admit this to him, but he made me look like Mother Soddin' Theresa."  
  
"Yes," Giles said suspiciously, "And he told me it took a century for him to deal with receiving his soul. If I understand correctly, you've had yours roughly a week. How am I to believe..."  
  
"Peaches spent a century nancin' about eatin' rats because he didn't _know_ yet what _I_ know, all right? Only thing shuts the bloody soul up is actively doin' good, much of it as possible. He wrote the book on gettin' souled, an' _I_ got to read it and skip to the end. I'm _here_ an' I'm _stuck_ an' if you won't let me help Buffy, I'll run off somewhere an' get all caped avengery, 'cause otherwise I'm gonna go bug-shaggin' crazy from the guilt."  
  
Giles sat in silence, staring at Spike through narrowed eyes.  
  
"Look," Spike snapped. "Comes down to this, right? I'm strong as hell, I'm a damn good fighter, I can't be killed by normal means. Unlike Angel, I can get around in the daytime, pass for human unless someone takes my pulse. I've got info on every Big Bad comin' your way for the next five years, I've got a chip in my head means I can't hurt you even if I _wanted_ to, got a soul means I'm desperate to get my good on, I'm hopelessly devoted to your Slayer an' want nothin' more than to keep her safe n' happy. You seriously tellin' me I'm _not_ someone you want on your side?"  
  
"That is... a rather compelling argument," Giles admitted.  
  
"Wouldn't be the Rupert I know if you trusted me right away. So put me on trial, yeah?"  
  
Giles sighed deeply. "Very well, Spike. You are on trial."  
  
"Watcher? One more question?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What's the rent like? On your flat?"

* * *

Spike tossed the duster across the hotel bed, falling onto his back next to it.  
  
Bizarre, how _shiny_ it looked to him. Not like he hadn't been wearing it for decades, but key parts of its character were missing; the knife-wound from Doc, the hole from that acid-demon that had jumped him and Harris The Bad Summer, scrapes and slashes and scorches sustained on patrol.  
  
Stealing from yourself wasn't _really_ stealing, was it? Soul wasn't giving him too much hell about it, far more concerned with the first person he'd killed to obtain it than the second... and sliding behind the wheel of the DeSoto again had felt almost marvelous enough to shut up the voice in his brain hollering at him for _not_ killing Drusilla when he had the chance.  
  
Probably bite him in the ass later, but he just hadn't been able to do it... and there it was again, the damned useless soul he'd gotten, cacophany in his head. Kill Dru, she's evil. Don't kill Dru, she's mental and trusts you. Kill Dru, she might kill Buffy. Don't kill Dru, if you do, Angel's prophecy sprog won't happen. Blah blah blah blah soddin' blah... what kind of fuckin' 'moral compass' pointed in every direction at once?  
  
Soul hadn't been a damned bit of help on the Gem of Amarra business either. On the one hand, he'd known exactly where the bloody thing was, and knew he could use it for good... better it on him than some other vamp, right? And he sure as hell didn't want to introduce himself to the Scooby Club... or worse, run into Peaches... without protection against their stake-first-ask-questions-later policy.  
  
So he'd gotten it, and taken a page from earlier humiliations; he was wearing it on his toe, where anyone who wanted to take it off him would have a hell of a lot of unlacing and sock-removal to do first.  
  
And... he hadn't told the Scoobies about it. Was _that_ right? Soul didn't have a buggerin' clue.  
  
He'd carefully packed up every last bit of jewelry in the cave with the Gem, which was _stealing..._ sort of? He was fencing said jewelry for startup money, which was probably wrong _too_, and the thoughts he'd had about dumping most of the money into internet stocks and pulling it before the economy crashed? Well, that was insider trading, right? Not to mention his little trip to Willy's to start the fake ID process.  
  
So far, it appeared that the only thing the soul was _any_ good at was showing a 24-hour marathon of Spike's Evil, Parts I-MCXVIII, every time he let his guard down a fraction. How the bloody buggering fuck did Peaches deal with this every day?  
  
Maybe the fumes off his nancy-boy hair gel kept him too high to hear them?  
  
He touched his hair experimentally. Nah. Just not worth it.  
  
He pulled out the list he'd written several days ago, when he'd first arrived -- and how bizarre was it to have a to-do list that _started_ with killing yourself? -- and stared at it, crossing off "Go meet Scoobies, take donuts" and "Kill Batface" with the little hotel ink pen.  
  
Never thought he'd have occasion to wish he'd actually _listened_ to Harris' basement litany of back-in-high-school stories. Bunch of crap with robots, he remembered that much... didn't one of them even put the moves on Joyce? Some mummy thing trying to eat Harris, some fish thing trying to eat Harris, some spell that had made Dru try to eat Harris... hell, maybe the boy _was_ as moist and delicious as claimed.  
  
What had Angelus come back all peeved about, with the fountain scrub-down? Homicidal ghosties? He'd been too busy glaring at Dru staring at Angel's bigass bear chest to really remember.  
  
Not that the little bads were first priority, and here the time thing _really_ made his brain ache -- say he went and found that wanker Ben, killed him right now... would the monks have ever made the Nibblet? Was there any way to save Joyce? If he worked on making Glinda's life in Po-Dunk Wherever less of a living hell, would she have ever come to Sunnydale? What about dog-boy, or bloody hell, _Anya_, who was out there getting her vengeance on?  
  
_What makes you think you're going to be able to fix anything? You'll just make it worse. You always make it worse. You've been a fuck-up all your life, you'll just find new ways to fuck this up...  
  
_Right. Time for a visit from _that_ voice.  
  
And it's not polite to have a visitor without offering them refreshments...  
  
Spike pulled the bottle of Jack Daniels out from its paper sack and set out on the road to oblivion.

* * *

"Soooooo..." Willow grinned, bumping her binder against Buffy's as they walked down Revello Drive, "What do you think about our new friend Spike?"  
  
Buffy kicked at a pile of leaves, grimacing. "I think there were enough vampires in the present without _any_ need to start importing."  
  
"Aw, c'mon. A vampire with a soul, here from the future to protect you? Kinda cool, and the vampire in question? Not at all bad-looking... and hey, bonus points for hot accent..."  
  
"Hey, if you want to start the Buffy-and-Willow matching souled vamp set, have at. Maybe doofus Xander would finally realize what sweet Willow-love he's missing out on..."  
  
"Fat chance," Willow sighed, hugging her notebook. "Y'know, I almost thought we had a moment there... while you were gone? But no, apparently it was all an ice-cream-induced, get-Willow's-hopes-up-then-dash-them-cruelly big ol' _fluke_. Did you see the shirt he was wearing today? I've never seen it before... brings out the color of his eyes..."  
  
"I'm sure it was mega-dreamy. So, you planning on seeing what's beneath the duster?"  
  
"Yeah, right. He'd never notice _me_. Besides, I think Cordelia practically _branded_ him with her _nipples_."  
  
"Yeah, and _I_ noticed he was majorly making with the get-off-me squirmies. And did you notice? He knew all kinds of personal stuff about you, me, Xander, Giles... diddly-squat about Queen C. Maybe he doesn't know her... and you know what _that_ means..."  
  
"A Cordelia-free future? I can only dare to dream."  
  
"Besides... he was talking to you _way_ the most. Maybe in the future, you're his girlfriend."  
  
"I don't know... I kinda got a _vibe_ off him whenever he looked at you..."  
  
"What, the won't-make-eye-contact, suck-up vibe? He's a _vampire_. It's probably the uh-oh, girl who can kill me vibe. I mean... if he got cursed with a soul, he had to do something pretty bad, right? Maybe I gave him a big-time smackdown, put the fear of Buffy into him."  
  
"Maybe..."  
  
"Driveway alert, switch to non-Slayage convo in 3... 2... 1..."  
  
"So, I think Snyder's gotten even more evil this year... do you think that's humanly possible?"  
  
"Who said Snyder was human?" Buffy laughed, pushing the front door open. "Hey, mom!"  
  
"Hey, honey! I'm in the kitchen... is that Willow with you?"  
  
"Hi, Mrs. Summers!"  
  
"Can you stay for dinner, Willow? We're having an old family recipe I just read off the back of this soup can." Joyce kissed Buffy on the cheek. "Guess what, honey? A friend of yours came to see me at the Gallery today... Mr. Giles' assistant?"  
  
"Giles has an assistant?"  
  
"That nice English man with the silly name. Spike. We got to talking, and it turns out he likes _Passions_ just as much as I do... _and_ he tapes it, which is so great for me. It's like Murphy's Law of soaps, I swear... the gallery will be dead _all_ day and the _minute_ Passions comes on... everybody in Sunnydale has a sudden need for art. He's coming over Saturday with the tape." Joyce smiled a little to herself, pulling a dish out from the cabinet. "Er, honey... how _old_ is Spike?"  
  
Willow's eyes widened in alarm. "Um. Old. Really, _really_, old."  
  
"Oh, honestly, girls, you think anyone over thirty has one foot in the grave. Is he? Over thirty? I really couldn't tell and I _hated_ to ask, but... he had sort of an... ageless face, you know? Like Dick Clark. I'd think he was twenty-five and then the light would hit him and I'd think he was in his early forties, and..."  
  
"Mom..." Buffy said in confusion, "_Why_ do you _care_?"  
  
"Well, it's not an _earth-shattering question_ or anything," Joyce tittered nervously. "I just thought you might know. He was a good listener, friendly, knowledgable... and... rather attractive. I was just _wondering_."  
  
"Mom, I really don't... you _don't_ want to get involved with Spike. And I'm not sure it's such a good idea for him to come over on Saturday."  
  
"Buffy, your father and I have been divorced for..."  
  
"It's not that! It's... he's a... a..." Buffy gulped. "Gay? I think he's... gay?"  
  
Joyce sighed. "Smart, gorgeous, funny man... in Sunnydale? Should have known. Oh, well. At least it looks like I have a new _Passions_ buddy... that's something, right?"  
  
"Can't have too many _Passions_ buddies," Willow agreed over-enthusiastically.  
  
"Where are the..." Joyce looked around the counter, brow furrowing. "I think I must have forgotten a grocery sack. Be right back..."  
  
"Buffy," Willow hissed as Joyce walked out the door, "Spike? _So_ not setting off the gaydar!"  
  
"What did you want me to do? Let my Mom mack on the undead? Sorry, that is _not_ a mother-daughter bonding activity! And hello, secret identity much?"  
  
"Buffy... do you maybe think that the weird vibeyness of Spike was 'cause he's... your stepdad in the future?"  
  
"An all-you-can-eat buffet of no! Come on, she's my _mom_, and he's..."  
  
"The guy who hasn't bothered to schedule alone time with any of us, but has a date with your mom on Saturday? It would definitely explain the away-from-Cordelia squirmies... to him, it'd be like Xander hitting on your mom..."  
  
"What is it with you and your ever more horrific mental pictures? C'mon, he's _Spike_, you _saw_ him, he's... and she's..."  
  
"He's like, a century old. Or more. I mean, he may _look_ not that much older than us, but... I mean, to him, she's _way_ young. And maybe in the future, your mom is in-the-know about the Slayer stuff... and hey, I bet she'd be all kinds of cool with the Angel thing if she were married to her own hot vamp..."  
  
"My squick knows no bounds. I refuse to..."  
  
"And he_ did_ know the secret ingredient in your mom's hot chocolate..."  
  
"_I_ don't even know the secret ingredient in my mom's hot chocolate..."  
  
"See?" Willow said knowingly. "Buffy, just imagine how cool it must be. No need to hide from your mom, no more getting in trouble for world-saveage, no more having to sneak out to patrol. Heck, in the future, you probably have an allowance for weapons and replacement Slay gear."  
  
"Potential of shopping _does_ somewhat allay the squick..."  
  
"And hey... if he grounds you? You can dust him."


	2. Peaches & Vanilla

"I felt you die."  
  
"And hello to you too, Peaches," Spike grinned, leaning insouciantly against the hotel doorframe.  
  
"I _felt_ you _die_," Angel repeated, extra brood.  
  
"Slayer not tell you? I dusted me."  
  
"She mentioned it," Angel growled, brushing past Spike into the room, looking around with a suspicious glare.  
  
"_Do_ come in," Spike drawled, shutting the door behind them. "See time didn't change your manners allergy."  
  
"_Right_. Because you're from the _future_. Look, Spike, Buffy's young... and can be a little naive sometimes... but I _know_ you. Whatever little game you're playing... it's not going to work. She is _not_ your third Slayer trophy. And what the _hell_ is wrong with your hair?"  
  
"Puts me in mind of a sayin' 'bout pots n' kettles..."  
  
"It's _white_. You do _know_ it's white, right? You look like a vanilla ice-cream cone."  
  
"Not takin' groomin' tips from someone looks like they stuck a bloody fork in a toaster. News flash, Liam; doesn't make the forehead look _any_ smaller."  
  
Angel picked up a book on the dresser, staring at it as if he expected it to sprout teeth. "What did you do with Dru?"  
  
"Sent her on an extended vacation to the land of Far Away. If it comes to it, I'll deal with Dru... but she's got somethin' important to do for you. Later."  
  
"You honestly expect me to believe..."  
  
"Darla could see your soul. You tellin' me you can't see mine?"  
  
Angel sighed. "I can't _believe_ you were so stupid as to piss off the Gypsies after... what am I saying? Of _course_ you were that stupid."  
  
"Didn't get cursed. Sought it. Went to Africa, went through the demon trials."  
  
"Why in the hell would _anyone_..."  
  
"Had my reasons. Look, Peaches... know when the last time I saw you was?"  
  
"Uh... the submarine, right?"  
  
Spike shot him a look of disgust. "I'm from the _future_, you pillock. An' the last time you n' I had a family reunion, it was over a tombstone readin' 'Buffy Anne Summers'."  
  
Angel went even paler, and Spike nodded. "You may not like me, Angelus, and I bloody well know I don't like you. But I'm the guy who's gonna keep your girlfriend alive or die tryin'... an' I think that officially makes this town big enough for the both of us."  
  
"How..." Angel swallowed hard. "How does she die?"  
  
"Couple different people involved." Spike looked up at Angel with a quirky grin. "Wanna help me kill 'em in _really_ painful ways?"  
  
A slow, exquisitely evil smile spread over Angel's face, bleeding fire into his eyes and Irish into his accent. "Willy, my boy? I think I may have actually missed you."

* * *

"I'm telling you, Giles, something _way_ big must be coming, something the vamps are afraid of. I'm starting to feel like Buffy: The Late-Night, Uneventful Stroller. I'm saying we converge the Scoobies, get into research mode. Whatever can make vampires squeal and flee -- well, that's not _me_..."  
  
Giles leaned against the library counter, removing his glasses. "I believe the answer is far more simple, Buffy. Have you, perhaps, spoken to Spike lately?"  
  
"The undead mother-macker? Not so much. And hello, kinda busy busting up Cordy's new gig as the Bride of Frankenstein." Buffy made a face, then turned serious. "Giles, look, when I told Angel he was here, he went _total_ Defcon One. Angel said he can't be trusted, and get _this_, Giles, his real name isn't _Spike_, it's..."  
  
"William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers?"  
  
"Oh. Okay, you already _knew_ that... I'm processing... so, you wanna explain why he's not blowing in the wind yet? Cause the whole 'Slayer of Slayers' thing? _So_ not giving me the happy feelings!"  
  
"He does have a soul now, Buffy. You know what Angel was like before his."  
  
"Yes, he was very mean and ate people, I got the memo... but _hello_, he didn't have a nickname involving _killing me_!"  
  
"I can't blame you, Buffy... I'm not entirely comfortable with Spike yet either. But I have spoken to Angel on this topic... he met with Spike after you informed him of his presence, and seems willing to allow Spike the chance to prove himself."  
  
"Y'know, Giles, relationships are founded on _communication_. Oprah totally says so! Why am I just finding out about this now?"  
  
"I had hoped to have more information before..."  
  
"Okay, you know what? _Way_ too many men in my life who think they have to protect Buffy from yucky knowledge... and now some future-witch has decided I need _another_ one? As presents from the future go, I think I'd rather have the flying car."  
  
"Not just 'some witch', Buffy," Giles sighed. "_Willow_ was the one who sent Spike back to you."  
  
"Oh," Buffy stuttered, then remembered she was ranting. "Well, why didn't anyone tell me _that_? It's a _total_ vibe-change towards the good. If _Willow_ thinks I need him... did he say why Willow thought I needed him?"  
  
"Buffy... I must say, Spike's actions thus far have demonstrated only the best intentions... and I believe Spike is the reason you've been experiencing such dramatically reduced vampire activity."  
  
"Splainy?"  
  
"Spike has taken a position with the city as Head Groundskeeper."  
  
"Whoa-whoa. Spike's a _gardener_? Having _major_ problems with the garden-glove visuals."  
  
"_Groundskeeper_, Buffy. He's in charge of the city cemetery system. Did you think six-foot-deep holes dug themselves? It allows him inside information on everyone being buried on any given night, which he cross-references with the obituaries..."  
  
Realization flared on Buffy's face. "He's staking the vamps before they're even buried?"  
  
"It is a rather good setup for him, I must say. Beyond the financial and, er, _dustier_ benefits of the position, it means that he is an employee of Mayor Wilkins, with an ear inside that office..."  
  
"We care about this _why_?"  
  
"Because Mayor Wilkins turns into a massive snake-beast and destroys the high school."  
  
"Okay, good reason..."  
  
"Spike spoke of your desire to have a more normal life, Buffy. He feels that by reducing the vampire population, you will be able to devote less of your time to patrolling and more time to social activities or... God forbid... your schoolwork."  
  
"He's dusting vamps to _bring up my grades_? Oh my God, he _is_ my stepdad."  
  
Giles blinked. "Beg pardon?"  
  
"That's Willow's theory. Mom's got major crushage and _so_ won't admit it, and he's pulling a total Angel-in-reverse. _I_ come home, he poofs."  
  
"He _did_ speak rather fondly of Joyce... and his attitude towards the group _was_ a bit odd, like..."  
  
"Like someone who knows us, but isn't really part of the team?"  
  
"If he perceives you as his daughter, it would explain why he feels such a, well, _rabid_ desire to protect you..."  
  
"Here's what I don't _get_, though. If he's my stepdad or a Scooby or whatever, why's he being so _avoidy_? I haven't seen him for more than five minutes since he showed up."  
  
"I believe he's merely busy, Buffy. But that does remind me..." Giles opened a drawer, retrieving a small metal key and sliding it across the counter. "He left this for you."  
  
Buffy picked it up. "Um... okay...?"  
  
"With the groundskeeper's job comes the groundskeeper's cottage in Restfield, into which Spike has just moved. He's stocking it with first aid supplies, food, replacement weapons... and he's offered you the use of it should needs arise during patrols. He suggested you might want to leave a few changes of clothes and toiletries there, in case of..."  
  
"Getting covered in head-to-toe acidy demon goo?"  
  
"That would be one instance where you might find it handy, yes."  
  
"Somewhere to take potty breaks," Buffy grinned, sliding the key into her pocket. "_Now _I'm all endeared. You ever seen the public restrooms in the park? Super eww."  
  
"He's suggested we investigate common demon poisons and their antidotes as well, keep a stock. Apparently you've been poisoned by demons at least twice that he can recall."  
  
"Antidotes, clean socks, and Slayer Snacks? He is _so_ my stepdad."  
  
"Well, I certainly can't say I mind the idea of you having a father who is actually _involved... _and can offer you something beyond yearly, guilt-induced shopping binges..."  
  
"Giles, do I detect a note of bitterness?" Buffy chirped over-brightly.  
  
"You detect an entire _melody_ of bitterness. You and your mother deserve so much better than..." Giles stopped himself, whipping off his glasses to clean them. "I'm not certain Spike is the answer, but..."  
  
"Giles? Thanks."  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"For the repressy British rage towards my dad. It gives me a kind of warm fuzzy feeling."  
  
"Well, I..."  
  
"And Giles? Spike may be my legal stepdad, but _you_ are always gonna..."  
  
Giles ducked his head, blushing, and Buffy laughed. "Right. Emotions in public, very Colonial of me. I gotta get to Trig."  
  
Giles watched her go, a shocked, pleased smile spreading over his face.

* * *

"Spike?" Buffy knocked on the door of the groundskeeper's cottage, clutching her small pile of folded clothing. "Spike? Are you home? Hello? Spike?"  
  
She shifted her clothes to one arm, fishing out the key and opening the door, flicking on the light switch. "Hello?"  
  
"Wow. _Minimalist_," she commented, surveying the empty living room. "Guess your time machine wasn't a U-Haul."  
  
Buffy drifted toward the one object in the room, a cheaply-framed photograph on the mantelpiece. Smoothed out behind glass, it showed cracks and wear...  
  
_Well, he probably had it in his pocket, duh. Not like he packed to time-travel..._  
  
... but clearly showed Joyce, Buffy, and a younger, brunette teenager.  
  
_Ha, ha. You are so busted... dad.  
_  
Buffy picked up the photo, entranced; she was _older_ in this picture, way skinnier, and her hair was a different shade of blonde... that she might just like better on herself, now that she looked at it...  
  
"Oh, Slayer. It's you. Had just gotten out of the shower, gave me a hell of a turn."  
  
Buffy whirled to face a doorway full of wet vampire... clad only in skintight black jeans and battleaxe.  
  
_Holy muscle definition, Batman!  
_  
Spike leaned the axe against the wall and ran a hand through his damp nest of curls, causing all kinds of really interesting things to happen to shiny, wiry muscles. Buffy realized she should probably quit staring... and she would!  
  
In... just a minute.  
  
"Sorry the place is so barren... gonna get furniture, just haven't gotten around to it yet. Laid in some of that cookie-dough-fudge-mint-chip stuff you fancy, though, if you're peckish. Kitchen's that way."  
  
_The body of a Greek god and fabulous taste in ice cream? Go, mom!  
  
_"Well, that settles the question of whether or not you have an diabolical plan to destroy me. Obviously, you've come from the future to get me fat."  
  
He grinned. "Got that raspberry fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt crap if you're feelin' virtuous."  
  
"Wow. You really do know me."  
  
"Well enough to have crunchy peanut butter to go with the ice cream."  
  
"Hey, you _are_ evil."  
  
Huh. Weird; that joking little twinkle in his eyes had just sputtered and died, and he was staring at his feet with great interest. Moody, much?  
  
"So... who's the brunette?"  
  
"Beg pardon?"  
  
"In the picture." Buffy wiggled the frame she still held. "Is she a Scooby-of-the-future?"  
  
"Manner of speakin', yeah. That's Dawn." And now he smiled again, fondly. "You'll like her."  
  
"So, I... brought those clothes you mentioned to Giles? You have somewhere I could put them?"  
  
"Sure, yeah. Lemme give you the tour. Like I said, kitchen's thataway... there's a laundry room off it." Spike moved through the doorway into a hall, opening the first door. "Guest room here, got its own bathroom. Thought that could be yours, yeah? Nice big closet, room for the stuff you brought... weapons chest, not a lot in there at the mo' but I'll fix that, an' there's the bathroom..."  
  
He seemed unwilling to go into the bathroom itself, merely gesturing nervously from the doorway. "First aid stuff's under the sink. Shower n' towels, case you get slimed by some nasty. Got you some of that vanilla stuff you use, other girly bits."  
  
Buffy brushed past him, noticing with a little frown how he shrank from her touch. "This was really nice of you, Spike..."  
  
"Yeah, well." More staring at his feet.  
  
She opened the lower cabinet. Hello, paranoia? Hydrogen peroxide, alcohol, mercurochrome, poison kit, ace bandages, gauze, seven different types of band-aids, over the counter medications for pretty much anything a human could get from poison ivy to hemorrhoids, and... a box of tampons.  
  
So, so, _so_ her stepdad.  
  
"Wow," she laughed, poking a bottle of Nyquil. "You thought of everything."  
  
"Just want you safe," he grumbled.  
  
"So," she grinned, straightening up. "Guest room for Buffy, huh? You gonna put a bed in there? I've got some extra bed-stuff from the house I could bring, sheets and stuff..."  
  
"Bed?" He looked alarmed at the prospect. "Er, yeah, suppose that'd be handy if you got knocked unconscious or what have you. I'll get on it..." He paused, grimaced. "I'll look into gettin' one."  
  
And walked out of the room as if it were on fire. Okay -- weirdness level rising steadily...  
  
She followed him. "Spike? Thanks. I bet this is going to be really helpful. It's sweet of you."  
  
"Er, well..."  
  
"I'm sure _Mom_ will think it's very sweet, too..." Buffy added with a wicked grin.  
  
That whirled him. "Thought your mum didn't know you were the Slayer yet?"  
  
Well, that answered a lot of questions. "Not... yet."  
  
"Ought to tell her soon, Slayer, when you've got time to sit down n' chat it out. She'll deal with it a lot better'n gettin' it dumped on her in the middle of a crisis."  
  
"Okay. Okay, I'll remember that. Thanks... again. I appreciate it."  
  
He had the _strangest_ look on his face... like every word she said confused him.  
  
So weird, but it reminded her of something that had happened years ago, back in L.A.; they'd gotten new neighbors, who'd had a dog they kept constantly chained up to a tree in their yard.  
  
After a few nights of lying in bed, listening to the dog whimper, she hadn't been able to stand it anymore; she'd gotten a bowl of water and some leftover hamburgers and crawled through a hole in the fence.  
  
And it was _that_ look, the way the dog had looked up at her while she petted it, surprise and pleasure and _wariness_, just waiting for her to go all Mr. Hyde and start kicking it... that she recognized on Spike's face.  
  
What the hell had he been through?


	3. Blood Red

"Okay... now, I have officially seen everything."  
  
Spike lifted an eyebrow, shifting in the seat of the powerful, purring machine. "Wanna go for a ride, Red?"  
  
"Oh... what the heck." Willow threw a lock of hair over her shoulder, grabbing the armrest of the massive riding lawnmower and letting out a little squeal as Spike reached down and lifted her and her backpack up into his lap. "So this is what you do in the daytime? Mow stuff?"  
  
Spike leaned forward to yell in her ear over the roar of the engine. "Mow stuff, take out vamp nests if I find 'em, look for signs demons are lurkin' about. What are you doin' in the graveyard on a Saturday afternoon?"  
  
"Looking for you!" Willow hollered back, screeching and grabbing Spike by the bicep as he whipped the mower around a corner.  
  
"Wantin' a chat?"  
  
Willow nodded.  
  
"Right then. Home we go."

* * *

Spike dropped into one of the plastic lawn chairs that made up his Dumpster Chic kitchen set, popping the top off his beer against the edge of the rickety card table. "Have at it, Red."  
  
"Well, first off... I brought you a present. Sort of a good-faith thing."  
  
Spike's mouth curled in pleasant surprise. "For me? Serious?"  
  
"Well _yeah_..." Willow dug into her bookbag, pulling out a small, worn yellow book. "I found this at the used bookstore yesterday, and I thought... hey, I bet I know someone who would like this..."  
  
"_The Dracula Cookbook of Blood_?" Spike read off the cover, eyebrow soaring.  
  
"All the recipes are for, y'know... _blood_ stuff. And not just blood pudding, either... all _kinds_ of stuff. And I know you're drinking animal blood, like Angel is, and Angel said it didn't taste nearly as good as human blood, and this book has all kinds of herbs and, y'know, stuff you add to make it yummier..."  
  
Spike had flipped the book open, examining the index. "_'Abandon hope, all ye who Entree here_'?"  
  
"Well... yeah, it's kinda heavy on the cheese, but I thought..."  
  
"That's sweet as hell of you, Red." Spike closed the book, setting it down on the table, shaking his head. "Scoobies givin' me prezzies."

"Did we not? Give you presents before?"  
  
"Wasn't terribly popular, pet. Did a lot of rotten before I started doin' good, and unlike Angelus, you lot were around to watch my hat change color. Never really trusted me."  
  
"Oh." Willow digested this for a moment. "But you're good now, right?"  
  
Spike took a swallow of beer. "Tryin' to be."  
  
"Giles said... he said that in the future, I'm a witch."  
  
"That's right."  
  
"I... kinda read between the lines that I was maybe not such of a white one?"  
  
Spike tilted his head, regarding her solemnly. "That bother you?"  
  
"Well, I..." Willow rolled her soda can between her hands. "I kinda... do you ever, y'know, daydream? Or I guess vampires, with the sleeping-in-the-day thing, I mean, you don't do that but most of them do, uh, I guess they night-dream, or just dream, or... anyway, fantasize, I guess, when you're riding in the car or eating lunch by yourself or... and your mind kinda goes off, and you get these ideas and dreams and hopes that play out in a cool story-thing and..."  
  
"Yeah, love," Spike interrupted gently. "I do."  
  
"Well... that was always kinda... y'know... one of mine? Like, top two on daydream rotation, If I Had Magical Powers. And I'd, y'know, be able to be _really_ good at stuff... like, _perfect_, and I wouldn't have to worry that I was always doing everything wrong... change the way I looked, y'know, so I'd be even prettier than Cordelia..."  
  
"Cordelia?" Spike scoffed. "You're comparin' yourself to the _cheerleader_?"  
  
"Well... she's gorgeous! And popular, and her clothes are all match-y, and Xander's always making fun of her but I think he secretly kinda likes her... and anyway, if he didn't, there's always Buffy, Buffy, Buffy..."  
  
"Wanna hear somethin' evil I did, pet?"  
  
"Is it really scary?"  
  
He tongued his teeth. "Just a bit."  
  
"Um... okay. Sure. Tell me."  
  
"Came back to town, right? In a bit of a bad state. Had already met you lot before, yeah? Lookin' for the prettiest, sweetest young thing I could find to sink my teeth into. Coulda picked _anyone_ in Sunnydale... an' I went for _you_."  
  
Willow's eyes were huge with disbelief. "_Me_?"  
  
"Yep. Remembered you, I did." Spike leaned forward conspiratorially. "You wanna know somethin' else? Main reason your Cordelia left town?"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Boyfriend cheated on her..." Spike paused for dramatic effect, "... With _you_. Couldn't bloody well _resist_ you. And Red? No mojo involved. In fact... only spell you did was one tryin' to get him _off_ you."  
  
"I... but..." Emotions warred over Willow's face. "I... cheating... involvement, bad... but... _Cordelia's boyfriend_? Whoa... who... who was the boyfriend?"  
  
"Give you a little hint, pet. Starts with 'X'," Spike smirked.  
  
Willow's voice jumped an octave. "_Xander_?"  
  
"Couldn't keep his hands off you," Spike sighed innocently. "Well... until you _dumped_ him."  
  
"I... but I wouldn't... I wouldn't dump _Xander_... he's_ Xander_, and..."  
  
"What can I say, love? You had another fella you liked better. Harris? Not what you really wanted, in the end. Always stayed best mates, though."  
  
"Wow," Willow whispered, staring at her hands.  
  
"Never really _needed_ the mojo, Red. Everythin' good ever came to you, you got on your own merit. Not sayin' your spells weren't bloody useful in fights..."  
  
"But, wait. So I didn't go all, y'know, crazy and start changing everything so life was perfect?"  
  
"Sometimes, yeah. Rupert tell you my trainin' suggestion?"  
  
"That's why I wanted to come see you."  
  
"Think it'd be good for you. Rupert knows the dark side of magic, pet; he's been there, done that, an' gotten the charmin' tattoo. He can..."  
  
"_Giles_ has a _tattoo_?" Willow shrieked.  
  
"Damn, Red," Spike groaned, wriggling his finger in his ear. "Got that volume out of you over Rupert's little bit o' ink, bloody well not tellin' you the gay thing yet."  
  
"Gay? Who's gay? Is it Xander?"  
  
"Nope..." Spike drawled. "But I'll be sure to tell him he was your first guess."  
  
"No, no! Don't do that, please, Spike, you're... okay, you're kidding me," Willow realized, relaxing. "But you're not going to tell me? You're just going to leave me in big gay suspense? Is it Giles?"  
  
"Half the fun in life's the surprises, pet. Already ruinin' most of them."  
  
"Aw, c'mon. I think I've guessed a lot of them already."  
  
"Like hell."  
  
"I have too!"  
  
"Name _one_."  
  
"I know that you marry Joyce," Willow said smugly.  
  
Spike spat beer all over the card table. "Bloody -- _what_?"  
  
"Ha, ha. _Told_ you."  
  
Spike continued to stare, jaw agape.  
  
"And you wanna hear a secret? Since you told me the Xander thing and all. You'll either think it's funny or gross or maybe both."  
  
Spike nodded, mopping himself up with a paper towel.  
  
"Buffy? _So_ not admitting it, right... but I think she's totally jealous."  
  
Spike froze.  
  
"Oh god... did I gross you out? I totally grossed you out, didn't I? I didn't mean to make you feel all Humbert Humberty..."  
  
"Buffy's... _jealous_?"  
  
"Again with the not admitting, but between the lines? So totally yeah."  
  
"Even though she's all up some brood boy?"  
  
Willow toyed with her straw, grinning impishly. "Even though."  
  
"Well," Spike said slowly. "Isn't that... neat."


End file.
